Enough
by Khotelu
Summary: John Stilinski has had enough of his son's outrageous behavior, and when Stiles comes home past midnight for the third time that week, John devices a plan to get some answers from his son only to have it backfire.
1. Chapter 1

It was bound to happen at some point. It was inevitable, considering the recent events surrounding him and the rest of teenagers involved in the crazy, supernatural happenings in the small town of Beacon Hills. He wouldn't lie to himself and say that he did not dread when that moment would come, when the stress of everything would become too much for him to handle and he would collapse. He just wished it would not have been on the cold, hard floor of his kitchen and certainly not in the middle of shouting match between he and his father, his father doing all the shouting.

If John Stilinski, otherwise known as the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, could only say one thing about his son, he would have to choose unpredictable. Life when Stiles was younger were literally days filled with surprises, from the new "pets" Stiles would sneak into the house every other day or arriving home from work seeing a six-year-old Stiles on top of the roof (which John, to this day still does not know how his son managed to get up there) ready to test his new found theory of him being Superman. Even though John and Claudia had only one child, most of the days it felt as if they were taking care of three children instead of one, but they managed.

Now a few years later, his wife now gone, his town filled with murders with most of the victims being teens, and his son being involved in God knows what, John felt like he was losing everything he cared for. The citizens of Beacon Hills were starting to look down at John with accusing eyes, as if he had committed the horrible murders himself. And his son.

Sigh.

He feared one of these days another body would show up and it would be none other than Stiles, or if not that, then evidence leading to his son being involved in the murders. He couldn't recall a crime scene within the last few months that Stiles wasn't at, and it drove him crazy. Questions asking what Stiles was doing there only produced half assed lies. His son was involved in something, he just didn't want to believe it and thus never pushed his son to say the truth, part of him hoping that a day would come when Stiles himself could come out and say it without his dad forcing it out of him. That was until tonight.

It was well past midnight, nearing about three a.m. when he finally heard the sound of an engine driving up his driveway and a few seconds later that sound of the front door being opened and closed. John sat in his usual chair at the dinner table. He rubbed his face a few times and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms together, as his _almost _seventeen year old son entered the kitchen.

"H-hey, dad." Stiles stalled at the entrance of the kitchen, one hand resting on the side of the doorway, the other curled around his stomach.

Stiles waited for his dad to say something back, but when a few moments passed and nothing was spoken, he swallowed softly and bowed his head down staring at his black converses. The arm around his stomach curled tighter and he licked his chapped lips.

"I can explain, dad."

"_I can lie, dad."_

"Really?" John retorted, his voice strained with a barely audible harshness. He could see Stiles give a slight flinch at his father's tone of voice. John stared at his only child, the one he loved with all of his heart and soul. The one he would lay his life down in a second for. The one he held, kissed, rocked, sang to, comforted, loved, and loved, and loved. The one who now showed up in the early morning hours, barely able to keep himself standing up. The one who was able to look straight into his father's eyes and lie, without a hint of remorse. The one who would one of these days get himself killed and crush his father's heart, but John was not willing to let that happen, no matter what it took.

"I-I was with Scott, a-and...well..." Stiles struggled to get the words out.

"Stop. Just stop, Stiles. It looks like you finally ran out of lies now didn't you, huh? Maybe, you can actually tell me the truth now." John declared as he slowly rose up from his seat, his hand laying flat on the table.

"N-no, dad. I-I...please." Stiles managed to utter, feeling his eyes fill up with tears, and he willed himself not to breakdown at this moment, especially in front of his father.

John noticed the tears well up in his son's face, and for a moment he wanted to drop this whole bad cop facade he had planned for his son and run up to him, take the boy into his arms, cradle him, kiss the tears away, and beg him to tell him what was going on.

He managed to control his emotions, and he looked down for a second and swallowed before sculpting his face into an expression he kept only for the suspects he interrogated.

"What? Please, what?! Tell me Stiles. Tell me where the hell you were for the past fucking twelve hours? And I swear to God, if it's another one of your half assed excuses..." John let the threat hang around in the air. Throughout the whole attack, his son's eyes gradually got wider, and tears cascaded down Stiles's face, as his father now stood a foot or two away from him.

Stiles struggled just to open his mouth and when he finally managed to, the only sound emitting was that of a choked sob.

_Oh God. Oh God._

"DAMN IT, STILES!" John shouted, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces as he watched his son nearly jump a foot into the air, and start to cower away from his father.

"Tell me, what the fuck I'm supposed to do, Stiles? My son, my only fucking child, has got himself involved in a world of shit. There hasn't been one, ONE GOD DAMN CRIME SCENE YOU HAVEN'T SHOWN UP AT! Tell me, Stiles, since your such a genius, what in the world is father supposed to when his sixteen-year-old son shows up at three o'clock in the morning, for the third fucking time in a WEEK?!" John yelled, pacing all over the whole kitchen, occasionally slamming a hand against either the counter or the table.

John breathed heavily, running his fingers through his hair before finally, turning back to his son, pausing for a minutes, before advancing toward him, stopping so he could look directly into his son's face.

"I'm making a promise to you, Stiles. Your behavior is going to stop, no matter what it takes. If I have to take your keys, and you have to walk everyday to school. If I have to take away any social life you have. Take away your computer, your phone, everything. If I have to take your door off and take any and all kind of privacy you have away from you, I will do it. Mark my words, Stiles. This is ending. I'm sick and tired of your bullshit." John stated, his tone much softer than it was but heavy with vile. Inside he was praying for his son to break down, to tell John what was going on so he could finally help him, because John would rather cut off a limb than make his son endure what he described.

Stiles silently shook, staring at the ground, still rather in shock of what just happened. His chest heaved up and down, both of his arms wrapped around himself. John grew with dread, silently praying he did not push his son too far. It was only a few seconds later that finally Stiles looked up at his dad. His face was red, his nose running, and tears continuously falling.

"I-I'm sorry, Dad." Stiles managed to say before all of a sudden his eyes rolled back and his world turned black.


	2. Chapter 2

It only took John a few seconds to react, before he reached his arms out and caught Stiles just before he was going to hit his head against the tile floor.

_Oh, God. What did I do?_

"Stiles? Kiddo, open your eyes. Come on, please." John pleaded as he sat down on the floor, and nestled his son into his arms. He supported Stiles's head on his left arm, his right hand softly caressing his son's pale face. Momentarily pausing his movements, he placed two fingers against the side of Stiles's neck, breathing out a sigh of relief, but that relief only lasted for a second. A pulse was there, but it didn't not take anyone with a medical background to know that a pulse, especially the one of a sixteen-year-old, wasn't supposed to beat that fast.

John choked back a sob as he was able to actually look at his son. It was without a doubt that the dark circles underneath Stiles's eyes were from the lack of sleep he was getting. Place his palm onto Stiles's forehead, he winced at the heat erupting from his son.

_Why didn't I notice he was sick?_

Stopping to think for a second as to whether to call the paramedics or drive his son to the emergency room himself, he chose the latter, and in a few short minutes he was running out of the front door of his house, Stiles laying motionless in his arms. He used all the strength he had to open the door to the back side of the car while still carrying his son. With a grunt he pulled open the rest of the door with his foot and as carefully as he could laid Stiles down. He quickly ran to the trunk of his car, opening it, and grabbing a blanket he kept in there for shock victims. The weather during the night could get cold at times in Beacon Hills, and knowing that the inside of his car would now be freezing he didn't want to add any more suffering nor damage to his son. Tucking the blanket around his son to the best of his abilities, he could only stop and stare for a few seconds wanting to break down at the state his son was in, before gaining control of his emotions and slamming the door closed while simultaneously opening the driver's door. Without even putting his seat belt on, he put the key into ignition, putting the gear into reverse and backed out of the driveway. Setting the gear right, he switched on the sirens and in a few seconds was speeding down the road.

Melissa sighed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands, and running her fingers through her hair. Questioning as to why she ever agreed to take a double shift, she settled back down at her chair, starting her computer and getting to work on some patient files.

It was a relatively quiet night at the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital ER, with only a few patients scattered around. The latest one was a young toddler, about four-years-old, who unfortunately had asthma and had an asthma attack in the middle of the night. Melissa could only frown, remembering herself waking up in the middle of the night to Scott's wheezes.

She glanced momentarily at the small container of food next to her computer, the one brought in by her son after she called at around seven and told him she was taking the night shift. With an ever present smile on his face, he had hugged his mother tight, kissed her cheek, and asked if there was anything else he could get for her before he headed home. Melissa declined, telling Scott to head home and that she would be able to see him and Isaac in the morning when they woke up for school.

After finishing up a chart, Melissa got up with the goal of obtaining a cup of coffee so she didn't end up smashing her face against the keyboard. She broke out into a series of yawns as she walked around the desk, moving towards the back hallway where there was a little break room of to the side. She paused momentarily, perking her head up. She didn't recall any calls being made in, but yet there was the sound of sirens, and it was increasing by the second. Turning around, she glanced at the ER doors and she swore she saw a hint of red and blue.

By the time the vehicle got to the ER, there were two other nurses by her staring at the doors. When the vehicle approached and she saw it was none other than the Sheriff's car, she broke out in a run, another nurse trailing after her, while the other went to get the doctor.

"John?!" Melissa called out when the Sheriff nearly flew out of the driver's seat. He came up to Melissa's side, opening the back door.

"Melissa, it's Stiles. H-he passed out and his pulse. I don't know it's way too fast, and God damn it he won't wake up." John spoke as he reached in and grabbed his son, blanket and all.

Melissa gasped seeing the state Stiles was in. His face was alarmingly pale and sickly looking.

By that time the doctor and the other nurse had come outside, thankfully with a stretcher.

"Here, put him down." The doctor ordered the Sheriff and waited until the man settled the boy onto the stretcher before giving out the orders to wheel him in and take him into the room.

"How old is he?" The doctor asked, as they wheeled Stiles into one of the emergency medical rooms.

"Sixteen, he's sixteen-years-old. Almost seventeen." John answered, trying to keep up with the hospital staff. Seeing his son laying on top of the stretcher John couldn't recall ever seeing his son so small nor sick, and in the moment Stiles looked like he was about thirteen.

"What happened?" The doctor asked as he took his stethoscope off, moving the blanket a bit in order to rest the scope on Stiles's chest.

"He came home late. I was arguing with him and all of a sudden he just...passed out." John answered, watching as the doctors and nurses worked on his son.

"Temp 102.1." Melissa called out, as the another nurse called out his blood pressure.

John gulped remembering how warm Stiles was back at the house.

"His heartbeat is way too fast." The doctor stated, mostly to himself as he removed the stethoscope.

"What does that mean?" John asked, even more worry beginning to fill his mind.

The doctor shook his head, running a hand over his eyes. "It can mean a lot of things, Sheriff. But right now, we know that your son obviously has a fever and a rapid heart rate. We're going to have to ran some tests, draw some blood, and hopefully see what's going on. Melissa can you start him on an IV. Sheriff, there is honestly nothing you can do, but let us help your son. Joanne can help you to the waiting room to fill out some paperwork."

John was going to argue, but he know it was unfruitful. He managed to place a kiss on his son's forehead before walking out, but not before Melissa grabbed his hand and told him that Stiles was going to be okay. He smiled sadly at her, and nodded his head, "I hope so, Melissa. I hope to God."

Melissa lovingly squeezed his hand before handing him off to Joanne, who helped him get situated in the waiting room, bringing him a clipboard with the paperwork on top and a pen. The only thing necessary to take some time filling out was the first page, front and back, which asked for basic information, insurance, family and patient history, and then the rest were signatures. He gave the paperwork back and went outside, removing his car from the entrance and finding a parking spot. On his way back to the hospital he realized it was about 4 a.m. Knowing he left his cellphone at home he waited until he got back into the waiting room and using the phone there to call the station, informing them that he wouldn't not be making it in today for his shift and not to call unless it was absolutely necessary. He simply told one of his deputies, "It's Stiles, he's sick." and the young deputy understood. Everyone at the station knew that Stiles was the Sheriff's number one priority and although it had been a while that John took time off to take care of Stiles, it wasn't the first time.

As John ended the call, he put the phone back in it's place and settled back onto the chair. He only realized how silent the emergency room was, but John would consider that a good thing he supposed.

An hour later, Melissa emerged from the hallway and into the waiting room. She gave a small smile when she saw that the Sheriff was sound asleep in the chair. She took a deep breathe, and walked towards John, ready to wake him up, and tell him the news they found out about, concerning Stiles.


End file.
